A Rolling Girl
by spider fingers
Summary: Another day, another mistake. Another lie, another fall. Today I roll again.


I've always been a stupid girl  
(another day, another mistake).  
I try to stand out.  
I try to reach as high as possible  
even when the fall is too great for me to handle  
(_and all I do is fall_).  
I can never reach what I'm aiming for.  
My destination is always another  
hundred feet away.

It's always another push,  
another pull,  
and I just keep on rolling through the weeks  
and the hours  
and the years.  
I fake a smile and tell everyone  
"I'm alright"  
as I walk along the broken glass  
of all the faceless voices around me.  
Another day, another mistake.  
Another lie, another fall.  
Today I roll again.

0

"I'm sorry," are the words he says to me  
as he holds another girl in his arms.  
I'm supposed to be crying,  
I'm supposed to be angry  
but all I can do I smile and say  
"I'm okay".  
The lying comes easily  
and I walk away without looking back  
because I can't stand their guilty eyes.

I walk to a place far away,  
where I know nobody and nothing  
except that this is where I am now.  
The sky is dark and the moon hangs above the world  
like a picture. Everything is perfect and right  
except for the rolling girl that walks beneath the night sky  
with a broken heart  
and dry eyes.

I wonder why she insists on taking up space,  
why she keeps on breathing.  
She doesn't want to exist yet she pushes herself  
to stay alive.  
"I'll keep on rolling," she says, "and live another day."  
But there's no point in her words  
because every time she speaks them  
she ends up falling again.  
She has no destination.  
She can't even see it anymore,  
if she even had one from the beginning.

01

She is now in the ballet studio  
and I don't know why she's there.  
It's a place she had forgotten about,  
a place that used to be her home years ago  
but is now a ruin of her lost destination and dreams.  
She used to dance here.  
She used to smile here.  
She used to sing here.  
Back then, she used to dance, but now she rolls.

But now, this rolling girl is standing in front of a mirror  
and she isn't crying  
but she's staring at her reflection.  
She gazes into my eyes  
and I wonder why she's even here,  
why she chose to come here,  
why she doesn't keep rolling.  
It's like time has stopped.  
"I'm sorry", he said, but words mean nothing to her.  
She doesn't understand them.  
She just wants him to try again,  
but he didn't want to do that—  
he wanted to give up.  
He wanted to give _her_ up.

She is looking at me in the mirror  
and I am looking back.  
It feels lost and wrong,  
like I'm just a reflection.  
For now I'm an outsider  
watching myself decide what  
she should do next.  
Try again?  
One more time.

Try to succeed again one more time.

02

On Monday I'm back to being the rolling girl.  
I slip back into who I used to be  
even though I feel like giving up.  
In class, I sit at my desk  
and I listen to my teacher.  
Even when the boy behind me pulls my hair  
and calls me ugly,  
or when the girl next to me sneers,  
I keep my eyes straight ahead.  
I keep on going, I keep on rolling.

At lunch I am slapped twice by a girl in my math class  
and I'm pushed hard enough to fall onto my back  
by a boy in my English class.  
I crawl against the wall of the art building  
and close my eyes.  
I imagine what it would be like to dance  
but when I open my eyes I'm rolling again.  
With bruises on my face and scratches on my knees,  
I stand up and I roll off  
and I keep on living.

On Tuesday  
I am once again crouched behind the art building  
holding my bleeding cheek.  
It stings but fingernails don't scratch very deep,  
so I just sit there and wait for the bell.  
But somebody is here.  
A boy,  
a boy I have never seen before is standing in front of me  
and he's holding out his hand.

I don't take it.

"Are you okay?" he asks me.  
I look at my scarred knees and don't answer him.  
"Are you okay?" he asks again  
and I still don't say anything  
so the nameless boy sits next to me.  
We both sit there in silence until the bell rings  
and we go our separate ways.

On Wednesday  
the boy is there again.  
This time, my hands are bruised.  
He doesn't ask me to take his hand this time.  
This time he sits next to me  
and asks if I'm okay, but doesn't look concerned  
when I don't reply.  
He begins to talk to me about things I don't remember,  
even though his voice soothed  
my active mind.

On Thursday  
he touched my forehead  
and asks me if I went to the nurse.  
I tell him I did not,  
and he looks pleased.  
"You finally spoke to me," he says  
and laughs at my blush.  
He tells me to wait and leaves,  
then returns moments later with a bandage.  
When he sticks it on my gash  
I feel warm,  
like maybe this nameless boy can save me.  
But the feeling passes quickly  
and I tell him I have to go,  
and I run.

On Friday  
I don't come to school.  
Instead,  
I lie in bed and tell myself  
"one more time, one more time, try one time."  
I keep on breathing.  
Today I roll again.

03

The boy is there everyday.  
He brings a box of bandages  
and he is gentle,  
and kind,  
and he speaks softly like he is speaking to a child.  
His touch is alien and warm,  
but somehow  
my mind never focuses on him.  
His face is still unclear and his voice  
unrecognizable.  
I never ask for his name and he never asks for mine.

He doesn't question how I got the wounds  
but I know that he knows.  
Scratches,  
bruises,  
cuts.  
I never cry and all I do is ignore the hurt  
and roll further away from him.  
He reaches out to me and I turn my back to him.  
But that's alright.  
I'm fine alone because I can keep on  
rolling.  
I'm okay.  
I'm okay.  
I'm okay.  
I'm okay.

04

The boy has pretty eyes,  
like gentle ocean blue  
and dark stormy irises  
that always hold some strange kind of  
peace.

I notice his eyes  
because it is him who stares into mine  
as I crouch on the cold ground  
bleeding from every pore of my body  
and try not to cry out  
and scream  
and roll  
again.

"Are you done now?" he asks softly,  
like he knows that I try too hard  
to please my parents  
and myself  
and everyone else,  
even those who don't matter.  
He knows too much about me  
and I don't know why he knows  
but he knows  
and he holds such sorrow in his eyes  
that I break my vow of silence  
to reassure him.

"Just a little more," I say, "maybe something will be in sight soon."  
He doesn't understand  
and for the first time I notice his tears  
as he holds my bloody face in his hands  
and smiles at me  
with those pretty, pretty eyes  
and with that gentle, gentle voice  
he says again "Are you alright now?"  
gentle words  
that become lost.  
"Not yet," I say. "I still can't see my destination."

05

"One more time," I say,  
"I'll roll again today."  
I look into the eyes of my own reflection  
and all I see are bruises  
and shame  
and agony.  
But the nameless boy  
who always meets me  
and brings bandages  
and smiles at me –  
he is expecting me today.  
So,  
I roll again.

06

It's all enough,  
it's all over,  
it's all too much.  
It's all broken, finally,  
and my words sink to my stomach.  
No more "one more time"  
and no more "I'm okay"  
and no more "try again".  
This is crime and punishment.  
I can't keep rolling with my knees scarred up like this.  
I'm stuck in one place, one moment,  
frozen and quiet in the middle of the day  
but I feel like it's night again,  
where he's telling me "I'm sorry"  
and the girl in his arms is pitying me.

It's too much.  
It's all enough,  
too much, over,  
broken.

"Are you alright?"  
the nameless boy asks again.  
I look at him and wonder why he's here,  
everyday, without fail.  
He has the box of bandages again  
and he's looking for new wounds.  
He knows my secret.  
He knows I'm rolling every day and  
he knows I'm forcing myself to breathe.  
Thank you, thank you, for being here.

"I'll stop breathing now," I tell him as I clutch my throat.  
Finally,  
finally,  
I'm not lying anymore  
and I'm finally done rolling.  
My breathing is sharp,  
my throat stings  
and closes up as my cold fingers  
wrap around my neck  
and squeezes, squeezes,  
tightly and firmly and  
with conviction.

But his hands aren't cold.  
They are warm and they touch mine.  
He pulls them away from my throat  
and he pulls me closely.  
My body fit against his  
like a puzzle piece.  
His breath hits my cheek  
and its warm,  
my body is cold and hard against his soft presence  
but somehow we fit together perfectly  
and he says quietly,  
"Let's go. You must be tired, right?"

So tired.  
So very tired.

Today, I roll again.

* * *

**A.N:** I was listening to Vocaloid Miku Hatsune's "Rolling Girl" on my iPod and got the urge to write this. it's a weird writing style that I used to have back in middle school, lol. It's very vague and whimsical, not as clear as my usual writing, so it's more like a sort of...poetic one shot, though it does have some story and dialogue. It even has some song quotes! (Though some of them are paraphrased XD) Ahem, anyway, please do review. :D

PS: There are no names in here on purpose. It can be anybody. I think it sort of represents anybody in that situation and how much humans need each other. WELL. Enough deep talk for me...DX

PSS: the story was very heavily based off of a vocaloid one shot of "Rolling Girl" I read a while back. I don't remember who wrote it, but it's a very good story. Look for it. There's very few "Rolling Girl" Vocaloid fanfics so it shouldn't be hard.

EDIT: I changed the format, and added a 'chapter'. =)


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